


Happily Ever After…

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-30
Updated: 2005-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-12 08:42:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7094686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Wes/Justine, Wes/Lilah implied)   Having your dreams stolen by the glint of a blade slashed across your destiny was enough to push any man into the darkened abyss of insanity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happily Ever After…

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

Notes: This piece was written mid-Fourth Season Angel, amidst rampant speculation of the consequences of the return of Angelus; it explores some of the intriguing possibilities, and twists into a dark AU reality that could have been…. 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

She had the audacity to approach him in a bar.

Alone in the smoke-filled shadows, his long legs stretched out beneath a table pitted with cigarette burns and carved initials, his third (or was it fourth) bourbon pressed to his lips, he sensed her presence at his right elbow and looked up.

If he felt a hint of astonishment as her features swam into focus, it was swallowed by the fog gathering in his brain as he tipped his drink to his mouth and gulped the burning liquid down. It seared his throat and the irony of that pain as he gazed into her eyes caused him to chuckle, a deep, mirthless sound that echoed above the hubbub surrounding him. 

He turned away and absently reached for a buffalo wing that had long since grown sticky and cold on the platter before him. Dinner.

She didn’t take the hint.

“Listen…Wes. I…” Her voice trailed away with a hesitancy he never heard from her before. “Look. I know I’m probably the last person you want to see right now….or ever for that matter…but…” She drew a deep breath and held it.

The minutes stretched between them as he continued to eat his wings without looking in her direction.

“Life sure has been sucky around L.A. lately, hasn’t it?”

He snorted softly and resisted the urge to laugh. Instead, he grumbled, “Is there some reason you’ve seen fit to intrude on my solitude, Justine? Maybe it’s that nasty little death wish of yours rearing its ugly head.”

She continued to linger, shifting uneasily from foot to foot and finally he raised his head and looked at her.

“I came over to thank you.” The words rushed from her lips.

He simply stared, his rugged face set in unreadable lines in the shadows of the room. 

“I know that it’s probably hard for you to believe, but I owe you my life…if not my soul.”

His brow furrowed and he took another swig of his drink, relishing the burn. Then commented dryly, “I haven’t the foggiest notion what you’re rambling on about. One of us is clearly drunk and unfortunately it isn’t me.”

“No, I’m sober. Truly.” 

She hurried to add, and for the first time Wesley really looked at her, taking in the surprisingly youthful lines of her face. Her clear eyes, devoid of their usual bitter resentment, the shine of her closely cropped red hair, brushed and neatly styled. There was a fresh, almost innocent look to the girl that he’d never seen before.

“I took your advice…it saved my life.”

“Advice?”

“To stop being a slave. A lot’s happened to me in the last few months since L.A.’s been going to hell, fire falling from the sky, perpetual darkness, looting in the streets. I met a woman; Anne’s her name…”

“Runs the shelter downtown.”

She nodded eagerly. “I’ve been working with her. Actually helping people for a change. It’s transformed my life. There’s been so many people needing help these past few months, you know, since everything’s happened and all.”

He nodded quietly and turned away to study the glass on the table before him, contemplating the dwindling amber liquid. He would need a refill soon.

“I heard about Angelus.”

He flinched in spite of himself but refrained from commenting.

“He’s still out there, isn’t he?”

Wesley nodded and finished his drink in a single swig.

//He’ll turn on you. You and all your friends.//

“I’ll get him…sooner or later,” he commented dryly. “Or die trying.”

She swallowed hard, then surprised him by slipping into the vacant chair next to him. “I heard about that fancy law firm, too, and all those attorneys. That lawyer chick…?”

“Escaped.” He told her bluntly. “I got her out…alive.”

“Good.” Her eyes squeezed shut and Wesley was astonished to discover that she seemed genuinely relieved.

“Unfortunately, Angelus saw fit to leave me a bit of a late Christmas present a few weeks ago. Although, I must say, his wrapping skills leave much to be desired.” He stared into his empty glass, willing it to spontaneously refill.

“A gift?”

“Lilah. Vamped.” He said bluntly, surprised at how cold the words sounded to his ears, spoken aloud for the first time since this nightmare began. The sound of his heartbeat rose and echoed in his ears.

“God.” The word tore from her lips.

“Ever the considerate sort, he provided me with an axe to tidy things up with.” 

Her eyes widened in horror.

He turned away and silence rose between them.

He could vividly recall the weight and the balance of the weapon in his hands. The sharpness of the blade that cut like surgical steel.

“I gave it to my Slayer. I’m certain she’ll put it to good use,” he whispered beneath his breath and marveled at his use of the phrase. *My Slayer.* 

Regardless of how he felt about the past and the volatile, lethal young Slayer who made his life a living hell in Sunnydale, and later chose to carve a living mosaic into his chest as she humped shamelessly against the erection he tried, in vain, to hide, the bond of Slayer/Watcher ran deeper than the blood her rage spilled from his flesh. Slayers weren’t the only ones born to a destiny they couldn’t control. Now that the Council was gone in a blaze of glory, they were stuck with each other. 

Damn the bossy wench.

He glared at his empty glass, annoyed that it had the audacity to run dry. 

“Sorry.”

Justine’s voice insinuated itself into his clouded mind and he turned in her direction and blinked. “Are you still here?”

“Look. I know this probably sounds shallow after…you know, after everything and all, but I really am sorry.”

He stared at her without commenting and she dropped her eyes. Her entire demeanor bore little resemblance to the defiant and angry young woman who slit his throat and flushed his life down the loo. Nor did she resemble the bloody and battered hostage he concealed in his closet for all those long hot summer months. The endless tedium broken only by the nightly excursions to search the ocean’s depths and shagging Lilah till she screamed.

Lilah.

It was strange how after years of virtual abstinence, his body grew accustomed (addicted) to sex. Hot, nasty, mind-blowing sex every night…

It seemed like an eternity passed since he last thrust himself into the warmth of a living, breathing body….

But it was only a matter of weeks.

He grunted at his empty glass in frustration, shoved it aside and turned cold eyes on his unwelcome companion. The lights caressed the subtle glow of her hair, cleaner than he’d ever seen it. She smelled faintly of a soft perfume, not unlike baby powder, and a vivid memory of her bruised and battered naked body being shoved into his shower stall, rose to fill his thoughts. He tilted his head and regarded her in silence, daring her to simply get up and leave if she didn’t like his blatant stare. But she met his gaze with solemn resolve and said nothing. He snorted and contemplated a question that plagued him for weeks while he held her hostage – insolent and unyielding -- coldly and methodically beating her on an erratic schedule set to break her will….

Why didn’t he ever rape her?

He certainly had ample opportunity. It wasn’t as if she could have stopped him. During those few times when driven by the unbearable stench of her squalor, he drug her from her hovel, stripped and forced her, screaming obscenities at him, into the shower. It wasn’t as if the thought never crossed his mind. Especially during the beatings when he found himself pouring sweat and pulling deep, trembling breaths into his lungs only to discover that he was hard with arousal. At first, the realization shocked and even frightened him, but in time, he grew accustomed to his body’s reaction to the violence, even welcomed it. Besides, Lilah was always nearby and more than willing to reap the benefits of his unrequited arousal without questioning its origins.

Over the years, he studied enough about the fine art of torture to know that had he forced himself on her, it would have broken her will much sooner, thus relieving him of the tedium of arguing with the bitch, and leaving her for days in darkness and seclusion…and the stench of being forced to deal with the consequences of depriving her of that God-awful bucket…

It was hard to believe the powdered and perfumed young woman sitting next to him in the smoke-filled haze of the bar was the same wretched creature who ruined his life. She appeared years younger to his tired eyes, and sincere in her regret. He knew what it was like to have regrets. His life was full of them; heavy laden upon his heart, layer upon layer, threatening to crush the air from his lungs.

“You’re truly…sorry?” He spoke the words almost too softly for her to hear and she leaned near to catch the sound of his voice.

She nodded and her eyes passed slowly over the unshaven, angular lines of his face, coming to rest on the pink scar traced against the pale white of his throat. She had the decency to flinch and drop her eyes.

“Is it absolution you seek?” The brilliant blue of his gaze faded with introspection and his voice fell to a mere whisper. “Do you believe you can make it up to me, Justine?”

She swallowed and drew a deep breath before responding softly. “I know you may find this hard to believe but if I thought that I could make it up to you, I would.”

“There *is* something you can do for me.” He leaned near and surprised the young woman by lightly resting his hand against her arm.

Her eyes widened and she nodded numbly.

“You can go…” He pressed his moist, hot breath against her ear, “…fuck yourself.”

She gasped but to her credit didn’t flinch.

Wesley began to laugh, the sound disturbingly close to hysteria as he kicked back in his chair, almost tipping it onto the floor before catching his balance, and continued to laugh, his eyes tearing with twisted glee. “Or better yet, you can fuck me. I could use a decent shag…but since the likelihood of finding one around here is minimal at best, you’ll do.” Swiping the tears from his eyes, his chuckles slowly faded, then he shoved his empty glass aside and scooped up the plate of buffalo wings, stuffing them into a napkin. “The reason I came out tonight was to pick up dinner.” He staggered to his feet, expecting that when he turned in Justine’s direction, his uninvited guest would be gone, scurrying off into the night, never to be seen again. Instead, she sat staring at him in silence.

Wesley frowned. 

She slowly rose to her feet and held out her hand….

He roughly snatched it in his palm and shoved her toward the exit.

 

*************

 

His hands were everywhere.

Kicking the door to his flat shut behind him and pinning her against it, he crushed the cotton of the simple blouse she wore, crumbling it in his palms as he kneaded her breasts, harder and harder through the thin fabric until she gasped in pain and he laughed, letting her slip free and move on into the room.

“Were you so terribly anxious to return to the scene of the crime that you couldn’t resist coming here with me, tonight?” He fished into the pocket of his jacket, retrieved the chicken wrapped in the napkin soaked in barbeque sauce and grease, and tossed it onto the coffee table.

“Crime?”

“Kidnapping. Assault and battery, to name a few. Or maybe you get off to the abuse more than you’re willing to admit.”

Her eyes narrowed and he saw a spark of the defiance he remembered so well. The Justine he thought was gone. 

“Holtz liked to stick you with things, didn’t he?” Before she could protest, he moved across the room and seized her hand, staring pointedly at the scar driven painfully into the top of her hand and through her palm. 

She snatched her hand away. “I made mistakes. A lot of them. But that part of my life is over. Holtz was a sorry son of a bitch who used me and everyone around him to get revenge. He didn’t care who he hurt or deceived along the way as long as he got what he came for in the end.”

Wesley was impressed by her level of insight, but he refrained from telling her so and instead wandered over to the bar and poured himself a shot of whiskey, leaving the bottle setting uncapped on the counter. He propped a hand against the bar and leaned back to silently regard his redheaded guest standing next to the sofa. What strange twist of fate brought them to this point? He never would have dreamed his “slave girl” would be here, tonight, of her own freewill, in his flat. He tossed back his whiskey in a single gulp and hissed at the pain as it burned down his throat.

Her eyes fell to the gash that flushed with the heightened heat of blood that surged through his neck, and she swallowed. “Look, Wes, like I said, I’ve made a lot of mistakes. Anne’s taught me a lot about life…real life, about caring about the people around me. You asked me once if my sister would be proud of me. Until recently, I would have had to say that no, she wouldn’t. But now--”

“Justine.”

She frowned. “Yes?”

“Have you come here to yap or to shag?”

She gasped and instantly he was across the room, wrapping her close to the burning heat of his body. His lips crushed against hers, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth. She fought for breath at the unexpected onslaught and he used her need for air to press his advantage, thrusting his tongue further into the depths of her mouth, devouring her lips. She fell into the kiss, allowing the tension in her body to unwind as she molded against him.

His hand made it up to her soft shining hair; he seized it, pulled, and the kiss became brutal. Suddenly the image of him dragging her down the stairs and into the park across the street, flooded his mind, vivid thoughts of him forcing her face-first onto the ground and slamming into her from behind in the very spot where she’d stolen his life from him, rose to consume him. It’s not as if anyone in this God-forsaken city would notice – or care….

The thought made him hard.

He ground himself against her, kissing and slipping his hands beneath her blouse to crush her breasts. They were round, full and soft in his grasp. Not as large as Lilah’s but fuller than Fred’s could ever hope to be. The comparison surprised him, or rather, the fact that his mind would dare to compare the intimate anatomy of three separate women whilst he sought of have relations with one of them. He almost laughed out loud at his prudent mind’s subconscious choice of the word ‘relations.’ He was thinking more like his father every day…

He crushed the breasts brutally in his palms, shoving the girl’s blouse up and over her head without stopping to unfasten the buttons. He pushed her against the sofa, again claiming her lips with his, shoving his tongue past her teeth into her warmth. There was nothing tender in his claiming of her mouth or his hands that frantically swept over her body, pinching, kneading the exposed breasts.

A soft, mewing sound escaped the woman pressed against him and it startled Wesley. He never would have expected Justine to make such a plaintive noise. With a jolt, the realization hit him – this wasn’t Lilah.

He’d grown accustomed to the violence of their predatory sex over the past few months and though if anyone deserved a lack of intimacy it was this woman crushed between him and the sofa, he really knew nothing about Justine. Was he hurting her?

Did he care?

Her body was strong and toned but stiff in his embrace, and despite her bravado, she was hesitant. He slightly released his hold and slipped his hand almost gently to her bare waist, slowly traveling upward over her skin until he brushed the underside of her breasts with the tips of his fingers…

He felt her slowly calm and relax against him at his tender touch.

Interesting.

So. The little Slayer wantabe was less sure of herself than she let on. 

Sex with Lilah was always rough and brutal. Her body a willing receptacle for his anger and frustration. It was ironic, now that he thought about it, that he pounded the rage into Lilah that by all rights belonged to everyone except his evil temptress. His father, Angel, Fred, Gunn…the woman who, even now, he sought to calm with soothing, gentle touches against her breasts.

But never Lilah. Despite her wicked ways, she was the one human being in his life who never sought to harm him. Yet he fucked her in anger. Such was the irony of his life….

Justine relaxed beneath his gentle touch and melted against him.

Another confirmation of his earlier suspicions that Justine was more bluff than she’d ever admit. He wondered if Holtz used sexual aggression to control the young woman under his “command.” He found it amusing to think how easily the madman manipulated his ragtag band of vampire hunters, when Wesley, himself, would have made a far more adept trainer to the twisted girl who ultimately slit his throat. He decided that nothing would surprise him where Holtz was concerned. 

The ex-watcher’s father taught him more than any child should ever know about subjugating his victim’s will through complete emotional and physical demoralization. He knew how effective it could be. Angel wasn’t the first son of a bitch to shove his face into a pillow…

But Wesley had stopped short of forcing himself upon his captive when he was trying to break her. He told himself there were depths of degradation too low for even him to sink to, but he knew he was merely deluding himself – the stench of his prisoner was the only thing that saved her. He wondered if she knew how close she’d come to becoming a victim in every sense of the word….

Yet here she was, naked from the waist up in his apartment…finally willing to trust the one man she had the least reason to trust….

Slowly, he traced his fingertips upward over the sensitive skin of her sides, marveling at the gentle ripple of Goosebumps his touch produced. She shivered and a soft moan escaped her lips. He dipped his head and lightly pressed his lips to hers, tenderly tasting her mouth and registering with intrigue her body’s response to his lack of aggression. Her hands sought his head, deepening the kiss, her fingers wrapping into his hair and holding him close, her breath mingling with his as their tongues entwined. Pulling back, he kissed a path down the tender line of her jaw over the very spot her weapon disfigured on his own body. She trembled, remembering, as he passed over the flesh and moved downward, over the delicate bones of her collar. He traced them with his tongue, marveling at the fragility of this once bitter young woman’s body. 

He could easily crush these delicate bones in his callused hands that had grown strong from years of combat in the battlefields of L.A.’s war zone. Instead, he tantalized her flesh with his mouth, relishing the tiny gasps his attentions evoked from her as she strained against him. Slipping down, he cupped a heavy breast in his palm and felt himself harden further when she cried out in pleasure. He pressed his lips to the russet-colored nipple and she groaned and dug her nails into the back of his head. He smiled around his prize and sucked, abruptly seizing her denim-clad thigh, lifting and wrapping her leg around his waist, holding it there and stroking his erection into her crotch pressed against him in this position. She threw back her head and cried out again, trembling with excitement, obviously enjoying the position as her hands moved down to cup his ass and increase the friction of their frenzied thrusts through the thick fabric of the clothes separating their bodies’ most intimate parts.

“Shall we take this to the bedroom?” His hot breath caressed her flesh and he felt her eagerly nod before he dropped her leg and scooped her up into his arms, causing her to gasp in surprise as he cradled her against his chest. She was far lighter than he remembered and felt almost delicate pressed against him, her heart fluttering wildly in her breast. He looked into her eyes and found them wide, almost innocent with astonishment at finding herself off her feet.

“Your dinner?” She breathed.

“Excuse me?” He frowned in confusion and followed her gaze to the coffee table where the soggy remains of his buffalo wings were soaking into the wood, threatening to warp the finish.

“You said that you went out to bring home dinner.”

“You’ll do.” He silenced her with a kiss.

 

***********

She slept.

Wrapped securely in his cotton sheets, sweet oblivion having claimed her, Justine fell into a blissful slumber. Soft, nude and inviting, Wesley found himself tempted, despite his better judgment, and snuggled close to her sleeping form. It seemed like a lifetime since he had a warm body to curl up next to in his bed. It was hard to believe mere weeks had passed since Angelus and Lilah….

He squeezed his eyes shut and draped his arm around Justine, molding into the smooth lines of her curved back and pressing close to the rounded cheeks of her ass. Tucking his now flaccid and spent maleness as close to her enticing warmth as he could manage, he chuckled to himself, daring her to protest when she awoke. Maybe he’d use it again when she did wake up…

Or maybe not.

She stirred and her eyes slowly opened, groggily taking in her surroundings then opening wide in surprise as if suddenly registering where she was, what she’d done and with whom. She struggled to sit up, clutching the blanket to her naked breasts. 

He leaned up on his elbow and studied her without any expression on his face.

Her eyes traveled past his shoulder and lingered on the closed closet door. A shiver passed though her body and her gaze returned to search his face.

A smile tipped the corner of his lips at the question swimming in her eyes. “No,” he said simply.

She frowned in confusion.

“I didn’t bring you here to hold you prisoner in my den of debauchery.”

A look of relief softened her features and she allowed herself the luxury of a slight smile. 

“Although I wouldn’t be opposed to shagging you senseless a few more times if it weren’t for pressing matters of a more urgent nature that I must attend to.” He started to rise but she forestalled him with an almost tentative touch on his arm. Again he marveled at the changes these past few months had wrought on this once bitter young woman who clearly found some meaning and purpose in her life.

Her eyes fell to the jagged scar running the length of his neck and she frowned. “I know it’s lame, but I really am sorry, you know, about everything.”

“Everything?” His expression wasn’t cutting her any slack as he stared at her blankly.

“Look. I know that things feel empty and dark right now. Like your whole life’s been sucked down the toilet. And I know I’m pretty much to blame for that, so I really haven’t the right to be giving you advice. But then again, maybe that makes me the best person to give you advice. It gets better Wes, believe me, it does. Just when you think it’s the darkest, it gets better. Helping Anne at the shelter, seeing the good that I can do, instead of the bad, it’s taught me a lot about life and about myself.”

He sat staring at her without commenting on her heartfelt confession, thoughts swimming through his brain.

Hopes and dreams beckoned from her eyes. Once, he too had aspirations. Now sadly, most were gone…

Having your dreams stolen by the glint of a blade slashed across your destiny was enough to push any man into the darkened abyss of insanity.

Was he mad?

Time would tell.

“Never give up, Wes. No matter what.”

“Believe me, I won’t.” He finally broke the silence, his words strong with conviction. “They took everything from me and I let them. The harder I tried to pull away, to start again, the more persistent they were in their selfish need to pull me back, all the while claiming that they wanted me to go away. They’ve taken *everything*…” The word ripped from his lips. “*She* was the only thing I ever had that was real, and even that, Angelus saw fit to rob me of. But I won’t let him win. I *won’t.*” He rose to his feet, standing tall and resolved by the side of the bed, heedless of his nudity that caused his bed partner to slightly blush and avert her eyes. He held out his hand, palm up.

She hesitated.

“Regrettably, I haven’t time for a second tumble. I’m heading back out to hunt Angelus.” 

She nodded with conviction and accepted his outstretched hand, allowing him to pull her from the bed. Gathering the sheet around her as she stood. “You can’t let them win,” she repeated. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” His hand slipped to the small of her back and he pushed her toward the closet. “Believe me, I’m going to get that bastard if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

“I’d offer to help, but that part of my life is over.”

“I understand.” He reached for the knob and slowly opened the door, looking past the bars still securing the entrance into the gloomy depths…

Justine froze.

She was crying again. For the life of him, Wesley couldn’t understand why. Was it merely a ploy to elicit sympathy or could demons truly feel sorrow and emotional pain? Regardless, the tear-filled eyes that beseeched him from the darkness of his closet twisted his heart in anguish. 

“*Holy mother of God*…”

Justine’s words muddled into the background of his thoughts as Wesley stared intently through the shadows at the beguiling form huddled in the corner, her pale limbs, white and luminescent, wrapped around her nude body, her flowing hair framing the chiseled lines of her eternally beautiful face. Even in death, she elicited a stirring in his naked groin.

His evil temptress.

“It’s all right, luv,” he soothed, kneeling next to the bars and addressing the woman trembling in the darkness. 

“What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?” Justine gasped in horror at the sight of the woman cowering in Wesley’s closet.

“What she can’t,” he whispered softly and turned to face the girl who stood staring at him in shock. “Or rather, what I can’t permit her to ever do.” Quickly he stood and grabbed Justine’s arm before she could protest, holding her fast….

That’s when she saw the knife in his hand and her eyes widened with a sick realization as he pressed the blade to her forearm.

“It’s all right, luv,” he repeated softly to the tearstained eyes that beseeched him through the bars. “I promised, I’d bring dinner home.”

 

~~The End


End file.
